


The Captain America Law

by someonelsesheart



Series: The Wolfvengers (Are Not A '90s Boyband) [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint and Stiles are evil masterminds, Crossover, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Tony is Stiles' godfather, alternative universe, remember back when I wrote normal fics, yeah me neither
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonelsesheart/pseuds/someonelsesheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the record, Derek is not very fond of talking about feelings, up to and including discussing his personal life, anything that has to do with Stiles, That Time With The High Heels, and games that include having to convey feelings.</p><p>On a completely unrelated note, who knew that Tony Stark owned a sexy nurse’s costume?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I finally got this out! I hope you guys like it as much as you seemed to like Angry Birds - you're all amazing, I never anticipated that sort of reception. Also, for all intents and purposes, in this world Phil Coulson survived The Brutal Stabbing (lookin' at you, Loki).

Derek hates aeroplanes.

He thinks that this is totally justified, thank you very much. Anybody in their right mind would hate a beast of a machine that’s about 250 feet long and could probably squash even Captain fucking America in a second if it fancied. He is not, however, _scared_ of aeroplanes, no matter what Stiles says.

Derek is scared of nothing, just for the record. Except maybe Stiles’ father, but that’s a whole different story.

“Look!” Stiles is calling delightedly, his face pressed against the window. “I think we just flew over Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts doesn’t _exist,_ Stiles,” Scott says, rolling his eyes, and Stiles and Isaac both look over at him in horror.

“SHUN THE NON-BELIEVER!” Stiles yells, and Derek wonders if his life will ever be normal. He thinks that maybe it won’t, and mourns a little for any semblance of normality his life may once have had. Which was probably none.

Isaac high-fives Stiles.

Derek tries not to tear his on-flight brochure to pieces.

“We could have been there by now if we’d taken the Quinjet.” Scott pouts. He doesn’t look _that_ disappointed, however, because they still have first class seats thanks to Stiles’ favourite godfather and he’s currently got Allison sprawled across him, fast asleep, while he watches America’s Next Top Model on the on-flight TV.

“I could be living with god daddy Stark in his mansion but I stay for you, Scottikins. Stop complaining.”

“Shut up, you stay because of your father. Also because he lets you have any pizza topping you want on Friday Night Pizza Night.”

Stiles pretends to look offended. “How dare you? I’ll have you know that I would not be brought to such a level. I am nowhere near so dedicated to pizza toppings.” Stiles chews at his thumbnail thoughtfully. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“I have lost complete track of this conversion,” Boyd says from his seat, a few rows in front of Derek. From where Derek is sitting, it looks like Boyd is watching something suspiciously like a romcom. Derek makes a note to mention Ryan Gosling’s abs later in conversation and see how red the wolf turns.

“Hey, Boyd,” Stiles calls from where he seems to be attempting to recline his seat in a very painful way – for both him and the chair.  “If you wanted to see some rippling muscle, you didn’t have to resort to –”

Boyd makes a sound suspiciously like a choked sob. Stiles stares. Derek stares. Allison mutters in her sleep, ‘Not the rabbit, daddy. Not the rabbit.’ Derek doesn’t know whether that’s amusing or just sad.

“I’m just kidding, bro,” Stiles backpedals, looking alarmed. “I mean, I like The Notebook. It’s a great movie. ‘I wrote you every day for a year’, and all that.”

Derek smirks, leaning over in his seat so he can press his lips to the soft skin of Stiles’ neck. “It’s your favourite, isn’t it?” he whispers.

“Shut up,” Stiles mutters, but he’s smiling. “So it’s not going to be easy,” he whispers into Derek’s shoulder, perfectly on cue.

“It’s going to be really hard,” the TV chokes out from the other side of the cabin. “We’re gonna have to work at this every day.”

“But I want to do that because I want you,” Stiles says, his laughter soft against Derek’s skin. “I want all of you, forever, everyday.”

“You and me…every day,”  Erica says in Stiles’ ear, her voice thick and amused, and Stiles is so startled that he lets out a squeak and falls out of his chair, landing, strangely enough, in Derek’s lap.

Derek’s not really complaining.

 “You’re going to be the death of me,” Derek mutters, rolling his eyes and wondering if there is a club he can join for Sexually Frustrated Werewolves.

“I sure hope not,” Stiles laughs, and licks his lips, devious as a cat. “Who else will I watch shitty movies with?”

“I always thought you and Allie were quite similar,” Derek says, and dodges the punch Stiles half-heartedly aims his way.

-

For the record, this was not Tony’s idea.

It totally _wasn’t_ this time, he _swears_.

“I don’t think pink is really my colour,” Steve says, his forehead creased with doubt, turning around in front of the mirror. Tony mostly just stares at his butt, which, can he just say, _those pants should be illegal._ Completely illegal. In fact, Tony’s definitely going to bring that up to Pepper and see if she can do something about that. There can be a law passed, the Captain America Can Not Wear The Skintight Jeans Unless Tony Stark Is Ripping Them Off Him law.

It will be beautiful.

Just like Steve’s butt, come to think of it.

Tony stretches, yawning. “I think it brings out the sassiness in you,” he says honestly, slapping Steve’s ass on his way to the kitchen. “We can be sassy together.”

Steve grins, reaches out one finely muscled arm and hooking a finger through Tony’s belt loops. Suddenly Tony finds himself with a face full of Captain America’s baby pink t-shirt. “Hey,” he protests, his voice muffled by the material, “I do not appreciate this, okay. I am not your whore to be swirled around like we’re on some dance show where we would dance the tango by night and drink tequila by day.”

“Tony,” Steve murmurs into Tony’s hair, gentle and amused.

“Yes?”

“What are you on about?”

Tony huffs, pulling back. “See, this is just the thing. You don’t even appreciate my amazing rants about your incredible tango dancing skills, I don’t see how we can even –”

Steve looks embarrassed at this, somehow. This immediately peaks Tony’s interest. He, miraculously, stops talking. “I don’t,” he mumbles, so quietly that Tony barely hears.

“You…don’t.” And people say _Tony_ is the incoherent one.

“I _don’t_ have incredible tango dancing skills, Tony. I can’t dance,” Steve says exasperatedly. “Okay?”

Tony peers thoughtfully into space as Steve turns back to the mirror. And by ‘peers thoughtfully into space’ he means, of course, ‘peers thoughtfully at Steve’s ass.’

“I’ll teach you,” Tony says decidedly.

Steve freezes, looking at Tony with those _damned puppy dog eyes_ that make Tony feel like he’s said something wonderful and he doesn’t even know _what._ “You will?”

“Of course,” Tony says, the unspoken _duh_ ringing out through his words. “Of course I will, you’re my –” Tony pauses.

Because Steve isn’t _anything_ to him.

Okay, so that’s a bit dramatic. They’re friends, good friends, of course they are. But they’re not _boy_ friends, or lovers, or anything. Not even after Tony drunkenly confessed to being a little bit in love with Steve.

Especially not after that.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice Tony’s hesitation, too excited over the whole _I’ll teach you to dance_ thing. He is halfway through changing t-shirts from his pink one (which Tony thinks is rather striking, thank you very much) into a much more plain, much more boring faded blue one when he runs out of the room to tell the others about this great new development, throwing both t-shirts behind him as he goes.

The point is that it _really_ wasn’t Tony’s idea for a shirtless Captain America to pick up Stiles from the airport, okay?

But he kind of wishes it _had_ been, just for the look on Stiles’ face.

-

"Stiles, what did you _pack_ in these suitcases?” Scott grimaces. “Note that I say suitcase _s._ Plural. Dear God, that should be warning enough.”

“Well,” Stiles says, taking a deep breath. He’s happily walking along with his hand luggage while Scott stumbles along with Stiles’ two suitcases and his own duffel bag. “Ten t-shirts, three pairs of jeans, five pairs of shoes, a suspicious-looking romance novel I stole off Derek’s bookshelf, six tubs of Vaseline –”

Scott looks horrified, like Stiles has just told him that he likes to dance around his room naked to the Spice Girls. Which, you know, if Stiles did that, he totally wouldn’t tell Scott. Not that he does. Um. “ _Ew,”_ Scott hisses in disgust.

“I’m joking, I just wanted to see the look on your face,” Stiles says amusedly. “I wasn’t disappointed, by the way. Anyway, there’s also Mr. Snuggles –”

Isaac’s eyebrows shot up. “Mr. _Snuggles_?”

“Stiles’ teddy bear,” Scott says long-sufferingly.

Isaac’s eyes widened and he began to laugh, great, heaving laughs that made him gasp for air and the security officers at Customs eye him like they might suddenly tackle him and take him into one of their little rooms for a pat down and some good old anal probing.

“I’ll have you know that Mr. Snuggles,” Stiles said indignantly, “is a very valiant warrior and a close friend. Also one of the best cuddle buddies that a guy could ask for.”

That just made Isaac laugh harder.

When they walk out into the main section of the airport an hour and a half later (the Customs officers found liquids in Boyd’s bag – Stiles isn’t even going to ask), they’re greeted by the entire Avengers team – save Thor and Bruce – as well as Phil Coulson, a man in a banana suit and pure, unadulterated destruction.

After sharing a brief knowing glance with Coulson (“So you’re playing babysitter?” “Well, I had to make sure nothing got blown up, didn’t I?” “Noble cause, my friend. Noble cause.”) Stiles walks over to the group waiting for them. He means to hug Tony first, but somehow the rest of the Avengers pile themselves on top of the two, slipping into the hug against the hugees’ and huggers’ permission.

This, of course, prompts Scott to join in with Allison, and then Isaac, Boyd and Erica join in, too. This leaves Derek, who Stiles, with an “Oh, fuck it”, grabs and pulls into the center of the giant hugathon.

Coulson attempts to move backwards and out of grabbing vicinity, but then Clint catches his sleeve, pulls him into the group hug, and it all just goes downhill from there.

“Steve,” Stiles says, “why are you shirtless?”

This nakedness seems to be a recurring theme throughout their little group, he has noticed.

“Well…” Steve begins.

Tony cuts him off. “For the ladies,” he explains wisely.

“For the ladies?” Stiles cocks an eyebrow, widening in his eyes very pointedly at Tony on the word _ladies._

“For the ladies?” Steve asks.

“For the ladies?” says Boyd.

“For the ladies,” Tony confirms. “See, since Steve is obviously a burgeoning flower of a man in this world that we call our own –”

“This is real life, Tony, not the blurb of Buffy,” Natasha throws over her shoulder. Which is true. And true. Also possibly true.

“Steve needs to get laid,” Tony says more simply.

Steve just looks confused.

Which is when Stiles realises it. Steve and Tony are not actually _together._ As in, Tony had confessed his love for Steve on the floor of Stiles’ living room and Stiles had _heard_ Steve arguing about it with Natasha and _they were not together._ Neither one had made a move.

“You absolute idiots,” Stiles mutters, and everybody looks at him.

“Well, that was just uncalled for,” Tony babbles. He looks awkward, which, you know, may be a kind of default for him but it usually works for him and now he just looks _lost._ Like he doesn’t know what to say and doesn’t know what to do and Stiles can _see_ him sneaking looks at Steve when he thinks Steve isn’t looking and Steve doing _exactly the same._

Clint catches Stiles’ eye and they shake their heads in mutual understanding. Well, it’s supposed to be mutual understanding, but they end up looking like dogs trying to shake off water after a swim in some sort of poisonous lake. According to Erica, anyway, who has once again reunited with Natasha so they can continue their weekly installments of The Lycra Club.

The point is, Stiles and Clint share this look that says _The world is a dastardly place_ and _We need to sort this out once and for all_ and _Do you still have the full seasons of How I Met Your Mother on DVD?_

The last one is from Stiles, of course, and Clint nods in an equally understanding way.

Stiles thought that this might be a good time to note that the guy in the banana suit was from the the cafe next to them, and _not_ hired by Tony. Clint had just adopted him. Stiles thinks that it's a measure of his descent into insanity that this does not surprise him at all. 

“Hey guys,” Stiles says finally, looking around, “where’s Thor?”

Thor takes this moment to appear with Bruce in tow, a tray of coffees in his hand and a waitress chasing him. “Sir! You can’t take the tray! _Sir!_ ”

Tony rolls his eyes, slips the waitress enough money to virtually set her for life, and plucks one of the coffees off of the tray. Taking a sip from it, he humms in pleasure. “Mmmm. Caramel latte. My favourite.”

“Cappuccino is your favourite,” Stiles points out, confused.

“It _is_?” Steve demands. He looks like he’s just been told that his favourite bunny rabbit Snugglemuffins has ran away. “You always seemed so happy when I got you that caramel latte once! I thought you loved it.”

Stiles and Clint share another Understanding look. This look now deserves a capital in Stiles’ mind because of the pure amount of understanding that is involved in the look.

“Of course he said that,” Clint says knowingly.

“Of course,” Stiles intones.

-

 

 

So it turns out that Phil _didn't_ just come along for the ride. Which, really, could you blame Clint for assuming that? Who _wouldn't_ want to tag along for a trip with the Avengers? Excitement is to be had! Things are to be blown up! Villians are to be - okay, whatever, the point is _Phil wants to hire the werewolves._

"Not permanently," he corrects, smoothing his hands across the already perfect material of his shirt, "just for this case. You see, we've had outbreaks of a mysterious species throughout the city, and we think that you might be able to help."

Clint cocks an eyebrow. "By mysterious, what exactly are we talking here?"

"Well," Coulson begins.

"More werewolves?" Boyd wants to know.

"Man-eating crocuses?" Stiles suggests.

Steve looks over at him and frowns. "Sorry - uh - don't you mean 'locusts'?"

Stiles gives him a horrified look. "God, no!" he cries, waving his hands emphatically. "What are you, a sadist? No, I meant crocuses."

Tony lets out a cry of anguish. Steve pats him reassuringly on the back, looking confused. Stiles and Clint share an Understanding look. " _Comforting,_ " Stiles stage-whispers.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Clint whispers back. Everybody's staring at them now. Well, except Tony and Steve, but that's because they're too busy staring at each other and pining over the unrequited love that they share.

Actually, Clint is pretty sure that's some sort of twisted oxymoron.

But it fits Steve and Tony. So. Well.

"Anyway," Coulson continues loudly, taking control of the situation like the nanny that he is, "I was thinking more - cats."

"Cats?" Derek, silent until now, wants to know. He looks - pissed off. "You want us to help you with your - _cats._ "

Isaac looks up sharply from his conversation with Natasha. "Did somebody say _cats_?"

"Cats!" Boyd cries in agreement.

"Oh lord," Stiles says, dropping his face into his hands.

"Yes. However, these aren't _normal_ cats," Coulson concedes, looking like he's dealt with _so much worse_ and it doesn't even bother him anymore. Which, Clint knows for a fact, is true. But it's still unnerving. "Werecats."

"Werecats!" Tony whoops, apparently having torn himself away from pining for long enough to zone in on the conversation. "They _exist_? Why wouldn't we just deal with them, anyway? Stiles and his buddies -" Stiles gives him an incredulous look at 'buddies' "- are on vacation."

Coulson manages to look completely patient and unbothered throughout all of this. Clint thinks that he deserves a medal for that feat alone. Or five. "Werewolves are exceptionally good at tracking werecats," he explained. "The Avengers could fight them but we need to _find_ them first. A pack of werecats have been terrorizing citiziens of New York City, even going so far as to kidnap a few children of the neighbourhood."

The kid next to them is giving them a strange look. Clint can't tell whether it's because he recognises them or because they're talking about werecats. Probably both.

"We will discuss it in further depth later," Coulson says finally. "Until then, rest. Stiles should not be needed in the tracking and therefore can enjoy his vacation as he pleases."

" _We_ are allowed to do as we please," Erica says sharply. "We have no obligation to you or SHIELD."

Derek nods. "Additionally, Stiles is pack, therefore we need him even if he isn't required in the tracking. Not," he adds, "that we have agreed to this yet."

Clint doesn't know whether to 'aww' or to be scared by how scary Derek looks when he pulls his lips back over his teeth.

Probably both.

"But what if I - " Stiles begins.

Derek cuts him off. "No."

Stiles sighs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days ago, Stiles definitely wouldn't have imagined himself dressed in a mouse costume with a cult of werecat followers. 
> 
> But then, things change. Stiles likes to think he's a flexible sort of guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going through a rough patch lately and didn't want to post a half-arsed chapter, thus why this took so long. After reading this, you will probably be disturbed that this WASN'T the half-arsed chapter. I apologise. Except not really. Except really. I hope you guys enjoy, regardless. ;)

 

“Hey guys! I think I just found an underground lagoon.”

Scott looks confusedly over in the direction of Stiles’ voice. “Is that even a thing?” he asks nobody in particular.

Allison, who’s playing Who Can Get An Arrow The Closest To Derek’s Head Without (Him) Maiming (You) with Clint, smirks and pats Scott on the head reassuringly. At least, Derek thinks that she intends it to be reassuring. It’s not, really. Scott scowls a little.

“That’s not an underground lagoon, Stiles,” calls Tony, not looking up from his phone. “That’s your bathroom. And it’s not even underground.”

“Hey, Ironing Man, this is awesome!” There’s the sound of the door opening to the bathroom, faintly echoing down the stairs.

“It’s _Iron Man,_ ” Tony says, long-sufferingly. He still doesn’t look up from his phone. He has this scary smile on his face that makes Derek question many things in his life.

There is dead silence for a few moments. And then “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, OH MY GOD – TONY YOU FUCKING – I AM GOING TO – SWEET MOTHER OF FUCK –”

Tony smirks.

Derek stares.

“Clowns,” says Tony in explanation.

Pepper, who is sitting next to Natasha, Erica and…Bruce on the sofa and has evidently materialized from the nether, rolls her eyes. “Not again.”

“Stiles is scared of clowns,” Tony provides, looking positively delighted.

“Every time Stiles comes to visit Tony hires a clown to stand at random unexpected places of the house.” Derek really has to admire how Pepper does not even waver as she says this. “He thinks it’s funny. Stiles never expects it.” She sighs a little. “Ever.”

“Stiles has trust problems,” Scott provides.

“Yeah,” Isaac snorts. “He trusts _too much._ ”

“On another note,” says Boyd, apparently taking pity on Stiles and also looking concerned for everybody’s sanity (including his own), “why don’t we play a game?”

There’s a moan from the bathroom. 

Tony grins.

Boyd still looks confused.

-

 

For the record, Derek is not very fond of talking about feelings, up to and including discussing his personal life, anything that has to do with Stiles, That Time With The High Heels, and games that include having to convey feelings.

On a completely unrelated note, who knew that Tony Stark owned a sexy nurse’s costume?

“FISH,” Scott cries.

“FISH DANCING TO THE MACARENA,” argues Stiles.

“WHY ARE WE SHOUTING, MY FRIENDS,” Thor shouts, and, no, that’s not really a question, is it, just Thor being – uh. Thor.

“It amuses me that _that_ is your first question,” Bruce says, walking into the room and collapsing on the sofa. He and Thor has just returned from Suitcase Carrying Duty, which Derek pities them for, really, because even _he_ thinks that the contents of Stiles’ bag – _bags_ – is both heavy and deeply questionable. “And not ‘Hello, Tony, why are you dressed in a sexy nurse’s costume?’”

Thor laughs, the booming sort of laughter that makes even Derek want to grab hold of something so that he doesn’t end up flying away with the pure force of it. Clint looks at Tony suspiciously from where he’s hanging upside down from one of the lamps by his legs. “Why _are_ you dressed in a sexy nurse’s costume?”

“We’re playing charades,” Stiles explains when Tony only gesticulates violently and makes various crude gestures that could be construed as R-rated. Also,Derek did not know that that was even _physically_ possible, but if Stark thinks it is –

“Right,” says Clint, looking vaguely disturbed. Then he perks up. “Hey, where’s Cap?”

“In the gym,” Tony puts in, evidently distracted enough by the talk of his favourite superhero to pause his impression of a fish doing the Macarena. “He said he had some pent up energy he needed to work out of his system.”

Stiles and Clint share a Look then, one that makes Derek’s insides go cold with fear. It’s a look that promises world domination and possibly another trip to the A & E. “I can think of another way that he could get that pent up energy out of his system,” Stiles says tentatively.

Tony looks horrified. “I thought you were with Dylan!”

“My name,” Derek says coldly, “is not Dylan.”

Tony ignores him. “I just don’t think that Dominic would be very happy if –”

“You know what?” Clint interrupts. “I left my bow in the gym.”

Tony stares at him.

Clint says, “I think you are morally obligated to get it for me.”

Stiles looks amused when he agrees, “Yes, Tony, you wouldn’t want to be considered a bad person, would you?”

Derek snorts.

“Clint has his bow in his hand,” Tony points out.

“Oh,” Erica says, rolling her eyes, “my God. You guys are awfulat this.” Then she pauses, looking sharply in the direction of the gym. “You know, I just heard the strangely rustling sound. Almost – almost like somebody taking their shirt off.”

“It probably was,” Stiles agrees, smirking, “what with you having super werewolf hearing and all.”

Tony is gone before Derek can even blink.

“Ah,” says Boyd. It sounds kind of like he’s choking.

“Ah,” Derek agrees.

-

 

Tony has morals, just in case you were wondering. He has lots of them. They’re filed in alphabetical order, ranging from being a good person to not perving on Captain America. He’s not entirely sure if that’s a moral, though, and if it is, then he was ruined a long time ago.

Steve is in the gym, hitting the punching bag like it’s personally offended him. Whenever one punching bag flies to the other end of the room or dissolves into a fluffy mass on the floor, Steve gets a new one. He’s on his fifth when Tony says, “At this rate, I’m going to have to start a mass order of those.”

Steve starts, spinning around like a child who has been caught doing something they shouldn’t have been. Tony grins to let the guy know he didn’t mean it in a mean way. If Steve wants to sweat profusely with his shirt off while taking out his anger, who is Tony to complain?

Though next time, Tony might need to remember to bring some popcorn.

Also, when did his thoughts descend to this level? Tony really needs to remember the whole He Doesn’t Like You That Way thing. Also possibly the Oh God I Told Him I Loved Him thing. And in case of emergency the You’re A Fucking Idiot Tony thing.

“Ah,” says Steve. He’s blushing so much that Tony is really questioning the mechanics of it. Also, how far that blush actually spreads, and if it –

_No. Clean thoughts. Clean thoughts. Puppies are nice. Puppies are – you know, Rogers looks a bit like a puppy if you look really closely and –_

“I,” says Tony in a very manly voice that most certainly does not squeak. “I – like – uh. Muscles. I mean, you – you’re good at that. Thing.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to grin, cocking his head at Tony like Tony is some particularly interesting little man that he found on the street. Which, hello, Tony is _not_ little. No matter what the rest of the Avengers may say. Just because they’re all freakishly tall. Also, Tony totally compensates for it in –

“You look,” Steve says, the grin turning into a smirk and, wow, who knew Captain America could _smirk_ and _oh God does he have no respect for Tony’s sanity?_ “Flustered,” finishes Steve. And then he pauses, raising his eyebrows. “Why are you wearing a nurse’s costume?”

“I’ll have you know,” says Tony, offended, “that it’s a _sexy_ nurse’s costume.”

Steve’s eyebrows go so high Tony’s afraid that they might shoot through the roof. “Ah. Well, it certainly fulfills its purpose, then.”

The radio in the gym changes song before Tony can reply, and Steve’s face lights up. “Ooh, I love this song!” he says. And begins to…uh. He begins to – well. Tony tries not to gape. He sure shakes what his…uh…mama gave him.

“Can you blow my whistle baby,” Steve humms.

Tony chokes.

-

Coulson comes soon just as Derek, Erica, Isaac, Natasha, Scott, Bruce, and Clint (seriously, what sort of trip needs _that_ many people? Stiles is slightly suspicious) are about to leave to grab the Chinese food. Coulson looks harried, suit and usually perfect hair mussed. He walks in to the front room just as Thor proposes Twister to Stiles.

“Not right now, Thor,” Coulson says, placing his briefcase down on the small living room table. “Briefing time.”

Thor pouts. Stiles pats him on the back what he hopes is comfortingly. “It’s okay, Thor,” he reassures the Norse god. “We can play Twister tomorrow.”

Thor smiles at Stiles. “I thank you, my friend. It shall be done.”

Stiles is not sure that that even makes sense, that Twister can be _done,_ but he’s not going to question it when the guy looks so happy. Instead, he turns to Coulson. “Bad day?”

Coulson sits down next to Stiles on the couch – or, well, ‘collapses’ might be a better word. “Who knew they’d go for the catnip?” he says, placing his head in his hands. He sounds a little dazed. “Who knew?”

“Catnip factory – first place I’d look for a werecat,” confides Scott.

Derek hits him around the back of the head. Scott yelps, clutching the place of contact. “ _Hey!_ What was that for?”

“Nothing in particular,” Derek says, unfazed. “Mainly just for ever obtaining a functioning larynx.”

Scott pouts. Stiles looks over at Derek, frowning. “That was mean,” he says.

Derek immediately looks repentant. “Sorry,” he says under his breath to Scott. And then, “Dumbass.”

Isaac snorts, but stops dead when Stiles gives him a cold look, and instead sighs. “If our lives were a Sherlock movie,” he confides to Stiles, looking wistful, “you would be Mrs. Hudson.”

“Can I be John?” Scott wants to know.

Everybody turns to stare at him. He immediately looks chagrined. “I read one of the books as a kid, _okay,_ ” he defends. When everybody continues to stare, he scowls. “Don’t judge me.”

“Nothing to judge, bro,” Stiles says.

Coulson shakes his head. Stiles has a theory that that’s Coulson’s version of crying out to the universe in general, ‘Why did I get stuck with these idiots?’ “Back to the _werecats,_ ” he says pointedly, and everybody shuts up. Because, hey, Coulson is scary. Just not when he’s wearing his Captain America pajamas.

“That was _one_ time,” Coulson mutters before Stiles can realise that he has spoken aloud. Somebody snorts. “Barton, need I remind you about the pink feather –”

Clint shuts up.

-

 

That night, after everybody is full on pizza and Stiles has gone to sleep against Derek, twitching occasionally and muttering things about ‘clowns’ and ‘scared’ and something about Beyonce, Tony didn’t quite catch that one, Tony finds himself the only one left awake with Steve.

And it’s awkward. God, is it awkward. It’s worse than the time he told his parents about The Incident With The Banana, which he doesn’t talk about anymore, like, ever.  Anyway, it’s worse than that, and that was _awful._

“So…” Tony trails off. “Cats.”

Steve looks at him. “Cats,” he repeats.

“Werecats. On the loose. Interesting stuff, eh?”

Steve is still looking at him a little blankly. “Tony,” he says, looking increasingly concerned, “are you okay?”

“Of course,” Tony says, sounding a little hysterical. “I’m peachy. Delightful. Wonderful. Peachy. Did I mention peachy? Because that’s what I am. Peachy, I mean.”

“Tony.” Steve stares a little. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong. Nothing at all. In fact, I am delightful. Did I mention that I –” Seeing Steve’s look, he sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says in an undertone.

“For what?” Steve looks confused.

“For – telling you that I was, er…you know. In love. With you. When I was drunk. You know.” He makes vaguely violent gestures with his hands. “Way back when, and. Uh. Yeah. I mean – it was a mistake. A massive mistake.”

He expects Steve to be completely relieved, tell Tony how much he’s glad that it didn’t actually mean anything to Tony (it did) and that it was just the alcohol (it wasn’t). But instead Steve looks like Tony has just told him that his puppy has died, or that Santa Clause doesn’t exist, or some equally horrifying thing in Steve World. He looks so devastated that Tony has to force himself not to reach across the sofa and comfort Steve in some way, get rid of the problem that he didn’t even know existed.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Steve smiles, but it’s all tight and strained around the corners. “I’m fine.”

Tony opens his mouth. He doesn’t get to ask. Steve has already climbed to his feet, mumbling something _early start tomorrow,_ and scampers off to his bedroom, leaving Tony staring after him like an idiot.

-

Stiles wakes up to an empty bed and quiet talks. He does his best attempt at creeping, which is not exactly easy in a house full of werewolves, but hey. Nobody could ever say that Stiles took the easy way out of things. For instance, a normal person would have heard a group of werewolves and superheroes talking at ungodly hours of the morning and gone back to sleep.

Stiles? Well.

“…bait.”

“No way.” Derek’s voice drifted up the staircase “We are _not_ using Stiles as bait. Do you even understand how many things could go wrong? How dangerous these werecats are?”

“You _wanted_ him to come with us yesterday.” The voice is Erica’s. She sounds frustrated.

“Personally.” Tony. “I think we should ask him. Give _him_ the choice. Especially since he’s at the top of the staircase.”

Damnit! Caught. And not even by creepy werewolf senses either.

Stiles, feeling like a dog with its tail between its legs, slumps down the stairs. He finds this ironic since he is the only one in the pack who is _not_ a dog. Also he does not have a tail. Thankfully. He’s seen Scott chasing his tail, and that shit is _not_ pretty.

There appears to be some giant meeting going on, one in which everybody seems to be participating in.

Everybody except Stiles.

Of course.

“What’s up, guys?” He tries the old blasé I Was Up To Nothing What Are You On About look. If Natasha’s expression is anything to go by, it doesn’t work.

“Stiles, my friend,” says Thor. He just looks cheerful, but then that’s Thor.

“How do you feel…” Tony wants to know. “…about mice?”

Stiles stares at him.

Tony motions to a large lump of grey next to where Thor is sitting on the floor. Stiles turns his gaze to the lump.

A mouse-shaped lump.

A…costume?

A mouse costume.

“No way,” Stiles says, backing up quickly and nearly tripping over his own two feet. “No way. I’ll never agree to this. No fucking way.”

-

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Stiles says.

Thor pats him on the back, nearly sending Stiles flying into the wall with the pure force of it. The Asguardian laughs heartily. “May I just say that that costume looks positively splendid on you, young human?”

Stiles basks a bit. Isaac rolls his eyes. “You think?”

“Oh yeah,” agrees Isaac. “Like something from a fairytale.” He slaps Stiles on his felt-covered tail-attached butt. “Or should I say, _fairy-tail._ ”

Ha. Isaac is pretty proud of that one.

“You just said the same thing twice,” Bruce says blankly.

“But it was _spelt differently,_ ” Isaac whines. “Couldn’t you tell?”

Bruce stares.

“Alright, so this is the plan, guys,” Steve, clad in the Captain America suit, shield and all, says, motioning for them to gather around. “The werewolves lead us to the werecats, and then Stiles walks up to their den. You’ll have to improvise there, Stiles – just keep them distracted until we can cover the place. With anything.”

“This is never going to work,” Derek mutters. Isaac can’t help but agree, just a little bit. But even if it doesn’t work, it’s going to be hilarious to watch, so that’s okay, anyway.

Tony – or Iron Man, Isaac finds it hard to think of Tony and Iron Man as the same person, because they’re not, they’re just _not_ – shrugs and says, “It’s our best bet.” It kind of dulls the dramatic effect of his words that he’s teaching Scott to do the robot dance as he says this.

“This is ridiculous,” Boyd says.

“Everybody’s comms working?” Steve says, completely ignoring them all.

“Yupo,” concedes Stiles. The rest of them mutter variations of yes, including ‘you got it, Cap’ (Bruce) and ‘let’s go get us some pussy’ (Tony).

Stiles catches Clint’s eye. Isaac watches them curiously. “ _Overcompensating,”_ Stiles stage-whispers.

Clint cocks his head at Steve, who’s whipped out the puppy dog eyes and is turning them on Stark. Isaac wonders if this is part of that diabolical plan to bring Steve and Tony together. In fact, it kind of reminds him of this Sherlock fic he read once where –

Stiles sighs. “The plan,” he reminds Clint. “It will commence tomorrow.”

Clint grins. “Did you have that chat with JARVIS?”

“Of course.”

Isaac raises one half-hearted eyebrow at the two. “Are you two manipulating Stark’s AI again?” What he really means is _Are you two getting involved in things that are none of your business again_? but he thinks that he gets the point across.

“No,” Clint says, in a way that suggests the exact opposite.

“Of course not,” Stiles agrees, in much the same way.

-

It’s dark by the time they launch their attack (Scott snickers and calls it ‘Operation Stuart Little’; Stiles ignores him). Stiles is crouched next to Derek, head resting against the werewolf’s shoulder, ignoring Tony’s jokes about ‘ _A mouse and a wolf walked into a bar and…_ ’ because he knows that his godfather is just nervous.

Not because of Operation Stuart Little, of course, but because of Steve, who is sitting next to Tony. They are both avoiding all possible eye contact. Admittedly, Stiles feels a tiny bit sorry for Steve. It’s not his fault he’s fallen in love with the one guy who avoids his feelings at all costs, but then, it kind of is. Regardless, Stiles can relate. Maybe, if this thing doesn’t sort itself out soon, Stiles will get Steve to go to Starbucks with him and they can have a heart-to-heart on the subject of Boyfriends Who Are Emotionally Constipated. Stiles certainly has a _lot_ to offer.

Talking of emotionally constipated boyfriends… Stiles turns his head a little. Derek has his eyes concentrated on the road, but there’s a slight softness to his eyes as he reaches over to ruffle Stiles hair. Stiles bites his lip to stop himself from smiling stupidly.

“Right,” Steve says lowly. “It’s time.”

Stiles takes a deep breath and stands up. Tony pats him on the shoulder. “You can do this, kiddo,” he says. “They’re only werecats. They’re harmless. They could tear you limb from limb, of course, but other than that – absolutely harmless.”

Stiles smiles sardonically. “ _Thanks,_ goddaddy.”

Tony smiles, completely ignoring the sarcasm. “Go get ’em, Stilinski,” he encourages, and pushes Stiles out into the road – in full view of the werecat’s den, a large abandoned warehouse. The deserted street immediately fills with yowling. Eyes begin to peek out from the windows.

Stiles, panicked, looks around for the others. They’re already gone, covering the parameter. He swallows. He hears Steve’s voice in his head saying, _Just keep them distracted – with anything._

Alright. He can do this. He can do this. He can –

“If you wanna be my lover,” he sings, “you gotta get with my friends.”

The yowling stops. A group of werecats move out of the shadows, facing him. Suddenly, every single werecat there is kneeling down and bowing their heads. The one at the very front lifts his head and says, voice full of respect, “The chosen one has come.”

Stiles stares. Wait.

_What?_

  

 

 


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know,” Derek muses. “I always thought that Thor would make a pretty good Hermione.”

 

“I’m concerned,” Isaac says.

Scott shoots him a look. He has a pair of binoculars in his hand, and is peering out into the darkness. Isaac has a theory that Scott is not, actually, looking for signs of danger, but actually ogling Allison’s behind. Still, he remains silent about it, because he’s just a nice kind of guy. “About Stiles?” Scott asks.

“No, about Benedict Cumberbatch’s cheekbones,” Isaac snaps irritably. “ _Yes,_ about Stiles. What if they’re mauling him or some shit?”

Scott looks a little apprehensive at this proposition. “Oh God, what if they _are_?” He puts his binoculars in front of his eyes once again, watching the other werewolves and Avengers advance on the old abandoned warehouse. Then he frowns. “Hey, Lahey, do you hear that?”

Isaac frowns. There is, actually, a faint noise coming from the warehouse. It’s not the sound of people screaming or fighting, though – it’s more like –

“The Spice Girls,” Isaac gasps. 

 

-

 

“It’s been in our prophecies ever since the dawn of time,” the leader of the werecats, a tall, sinewy man named Alec, is confiding to Stiles as they walk through the warehouse. “The boy who runs with the wolves // Shall cometh // With sounds of sorrow and concern // From the girls whose purposes lie with herbs.”

Stiles stares at him. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Alec cringes. “I wish I was.” He shakes his head. “Then again, great-great-great Aunt Agnes Nutter always did like to spice up her prophecies a bit.”

“ _Spice,_ ” one of the younger werecats chortles, and Stiles snorts, holding his hand up for a high five. The boy highfives Stiles like Stiles’ hand holds the cure to the world’s deadliest diseases or is made of gold – or catnip, or something.

The werecat boy then proceeds to run off to where some of the other younger ones are standing, yelling, “The Chosen One just highfived me. He fucking _highfived me._ Wait ‘til Papa hears about this!”

“Lucian,” a woman who Stiles can only assume is the boy’s mother scolds, “do not speak so crudely in front of the Chosen One.”

“Not unless Ron and Hermione are here to hear it, too,” Stiles quips.

Everybody just kind of stares at him. Stiles supposes that werecats aren’t really up-to-date on their pop culture, which is weird, because the werewolves are some of the most pop-quizzable people Stiles knows, especially since Tony made them watch all the Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings movies consecutively.

“Guys, I just,” Stiles says. He hesitates. “The reason I’m here actually is not to deliver any life-altering prophecies. I’m just a kid. I came here with the Avengers and a pack of werewolves to infiltrate the building and stop you all from killing people.”

“We’re not killing people,” somebody offers. “That was Moses.”

Stiles stares. “Excuse me?”

“Moses,” the woman repeats. “The Alpha of the Wildcats.”

“Like the basketball team?”

“Like the _werecat pack,_ ” Alec says. “They have been harassing people. But it is okay, because now that the Chosen One has come, he can fix it. The Wildcats will listen to the Chosen One.”

“I, uh,” Stiles articulates.

It is at this moment that Stiles’ delightful family decides to make their entrance, bursting into the warehouse like they’re staging an intervention. And maybe, to them, they are.

“Don’t worry, Stiles,” Tony calls. “We’re coming to save you!” He takes a menacing step forward –

– and then stops dead when he sees Stiles happily conversing with the werecats’ leader.

“Guys!” Stiles cries, alarmed. He doesn’t know why he is alarmed, though, really. He should just _expect_ this from them by now. “Stop!”

Alec dives into action then, yelling, “ _Everybody,_ up front. The intruders are threatening the Chosen One!”

Which is how Stiles ends up wrapped up in some sort of werecat cocoon, a cocoon that grows and scratches and looks pretty damn ready to tear about the Avengers and the werewolves alike or go down fighting.

“These are _my friends_!” Stiles yells to nobody in particular.

Everything seems to pause.

“Who? Us?” Tony scoffs. “Of course we’re your friends.”

“Both of you!” Stiles yells, seriously wondering if a person can drown in a flood of werecats. “The werecats and the werewolves and the Avengers. _All of you_ are my friends. The werecats aren’t killing people; it’s another pack that is doing the killing! And guys,” Stiles addresses the werecats, “these are my _friends._ My _family._ They’re just trying to help, even if they really suck at it.”

“They do,” says Lucian, “really suck at it.”

“We could do a better job,” whines one of the other young werecats in agreement. “We could protect you.”

“Nay, my fellows!” somebody – Thor – protects. “It is we that can protect Stiles to the fullest and most efficient.”

Oh, Jesus. Now they’re fighting off Stiles like he’s some piece of meat.

Jeez, that was a terrifying thought. What if the werecats don’t want Stiles to lead them and give them advice but they want to use him as some sort of, like, Perfect Sacrifice or something?

Wait, no, Stiles is pretty sure that was the Aztecs. Unless the werecats descend from the Aztecs. Stiles wouldn’t put it past them.

“Hey,” he says, “you guys don’t want to plunge my heart from my chest while I’m still breathing in a ritual of excruciating and blinding pain or anything, do you?”

The werecats as a whole look pretty affronted by this. “No,” Alec says, sounding horrified. “Of course not.”

“Not until you’re all plump, anyway,” Lucian quips, and Clint, the traitor, actually laughs.

“You know what? I am so done,” Stiles huffs, pushing through the crowd of werecats. “I know werecats and werewolves being friends goes against, like, the eighteenth law of Being A Freaky Hybrid Thing but you guys _need_ to kiss and make-up. That way we can tackle this problem easily, get it finished, and I can go on with my summer vacation.”

There is a long pause, which is broken only when Tony says thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t mind kissing and making up with one of _those_ beautiful ladies _,_ but that’s just me,” winking at one of the werecat women.

“I’ll rip your throat out first,” the woman says pleasantly.

“Or the beautiful men,” Tony rushes to add, looking a little terrified.

“Tony,” Stiles scolds, “no picking up one night stands in my peace meeting.”

“You like _men_?” Steve exclaims, just out of nowhere, like this is absolute _brand new information._ To Steve, it probably is. He’s not the easiest to catch up, the poor soul. Tony could go around with I’M IN LOVE WITH STEVE ROGERS painted onto his forehead and Steve would think he’s just having a laugh. “You – just. I. What?”

“I like men as well as women, yeah,” Tony says, frowning. “What, did you not infer that from my _love declaration to you_?”

Stiles feels like something important is happening here, so he doesn’t say anything. Because, you know, he’s just that sort of thoughtful person. Also he wants Tony to stop moping around the house and drunkenly singing to Taylor Swift while Stiles is trying to sleep (“ _You belong with me,_ ” is today’s favourite, which he had yelled this morning in the direction of Steve’s room with a beer in one hand and a family-sized bowl of nachos in the other.)

“I thought you were kidding!” Steve cries. “You _ignored_ me afterwards!”

“I thought you didn’t _like_ me that way!” Tony cries back. “I thought you wanted to just forget about it.”

Somebody sniffs. Stiles thinks that it might be Clint.

“Why wouldn’t I like you that way, Tony?” Steve demands. “You’re…amazing. You’re patient with me when I don’t know how to do things, and you explain stupid things to me, like – like that movie with the strange man who sparkles.” He shakes his head. “You’re incredible. You’re handsome. You’re a _genius,_ Tony.”

“Well,” Tony says, but he doesn’t deny it. Stiles swears that he sees a faint _blush_ dusted over Tony’s cheeks.

“I’ve ‘ _liked you that way’_ ever seen we first met, Tony. The way you always save the day, the way my name rolls off your tongue – God, Tony. I’m in love with everything about you. I don’t know how to say it. I _love_ you.”

There is a long moment of silence where it’s almost like the whole word stops. Stiles sniffles a little. He’s pretty sure the rest of them – even some of the werecats – do, too. Tony’s whole face crumbles suddenly, and he looks so happy, so in love, that Stiles would be jealous if he didn’t have Derek. Then Tony is surging forward, grabbing Steve by those impressive shoulders and kissing him, and Steve is kissing back, and wow, is it weird that Stiles is doing an inward commentary of this, damnit, it’s weird,  isn’t it, yeah, it’s a bit weird.

Then everybody in the warehouse is cheering. Stiles laughs and claps and wipes away a couple of tears. He also shoots Derek a look that clearly says _How come_ we _didn’t have a dramatic reveal like that?_

Derek raises his eyebrows as if to say _I’ll have you know that cereal is_ very _romantic._

Stiles kind of has to concede that point.

Stiles also makes eye contact with Clint, and he’s pretty sure some serious mental highfiving occurs. Because, let’s be real here, if it wasn’t for Stiles’ and Clint’s Diabolical Plan, they’d still be stuck back on street Meaningful Looks.

“I love you,” Tony whispers, like he means it for only Steve but it echoes, because Tony never could whisper, and Stiles feels like he’s watching something too private, too intimate. Steve smiles and rests his forehead against Tony’s. Tony hides a smile against Steve’s collarbone.

“So!” Stiles says awkwardly, too loud. “Now that we’ve got that cleared up, how about this truce thing we were talking about earlier? Kissing and making up?”

The fact that both parties agree is pure luck, but it’s something that Stiles can make sense of. What Stiles _can’t_ make sense of is how, not two minutes later, suddenly everybody in the warehouse is hugging, like this isn’t actually a meeting of superheroes and wereanimals but actually a hippy convention. Stiles just kind of stands there gaping.

“Well done, Chosen One.” Derek, unseen, comes up behind Stiles and rests his chin on Stiles’ shoulder. “Looks like you worked your psychic powers pretty well.”

Stiles grimaces. “I can’t be the ‘ _Chosen One’._ ”

“I don’t know,” Derek muses. And then he adds, purely because he’s the fantastic guy that Stiles fell in love with, “I always thought that Thor would make a pretty good Hermione.”

Then Stiles just _has_ to kiss him, because come _on. Pop culture references._ They’re good for the soul, just like the sight of Derek Hale’s abs, come to think of it.

-

The meeting with the Wildcats is weird. That’s the only way Stiles can describe it. _Weird._ Derek insists on going with Stiles, which then of course prompts the whole entourage of theirs to offer, which then of course results in an argument about whether it will freak out the Wildcats to see a massive clump of them, which then of course leads Tony to demand “Who gives a fuck?”

“ _Tony,_ ” Steve scolds. “Language.”

Tony folds under Steve’s gaze like a piece of tissue paper.

The Alpha of the Wildcats introduces himself as Moses – the werecats really _weren’t_ taking the piss – and Stiles is delighted that things are going so well when they’re all sat down around a meeting table at Stark Industries, talking over recent events. And then everything kind of goes downhill from there.

“So,” Stiles says, not unkindly, “we would appreciate it if you would come with us.”

This earns him a deathly stare from Moses. “Excuse me?”

“We know about the killings,” Stiles says flatly. “It’s not something that will be condoned. As the –” Stiles grimaces. “ – _Chosen One,_ I’m going to have to ask you to come with us to the police station for some questioning.”

“No.”

Stiles stares. “Excuse me?”

“No,” says Moses pleasantly. “We will not come with you. Chosen One or not, you’re still a stupid, inexperienced teenager who clearly plans on imprisoning my pack and I for the sake of the world’s ever-so-important peace. You’re not even a werecat; you’re just a useless little boy.” He smiles at Stiles. “So no.”

Derek is on his feet before Moses can even finish his little monologue. “ _What_ did you call Stiles?”

“Oh great,” Stiles hears Clint mutter. “Here we go.”

Derek slams his fist down on the table. “Do you _really_ think, feline, that you could take on all of the Avengers _and_ a pack of werewolves?” He’s whipped out The Glare. It’s the glare that means business, so much business that it deserves capitals. _That’s_ how much of a glare it is.

“Feline,” Clint snorts.

“Shut up,” Natasha hisses.

There’s the sound of somebody getting slapped. Stiles is just glad it isn’t him. Natasha is _scary._

Moses gets to his feet, meeting Derek’s challenging stare with one of his own. He smirks. “Yes, in fact,” he says, “I _do._ ”

 At this, the whole table rises simultaneously, including the Wildcats, the werewolves, and the Avengers.

“Ah, shit,” Stiles says, diving out of the way and grabbing Coulson who had come along for the ride, and Tony, who is unarmoured.  

“I can handle them, you know, Stilinski,” Coulson mutters amusedly. “I _am_ an agent, after all.”

Tony looks a little disgruntled, too. “I don’t need my suit to beat those little kitty asses.”

Stiles stares at him. “That just sounded…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, turning back to the fray before them.

“Do you really want to get involved in that?” Stiles demands. He points to where there appears to be some sort of giant superhero/were-animal pile-up, with Thor at the very bottom. Thor doesn’t look too bothered, though; if anything, he looks delighted.

“What great fun you Midgardians have!” he bellows. “We must assure that we do this more often, my fellows.”

“ _Thor,_ ” Tony hisses. “Mind on the job, buddy.”

Thor nods solemnly, standing up and sending superheroes, werecats and werewolves alike flying across the room. Isaac hits the glass window with a _thump._ Stiles winces. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“It’s good,” Isaac says, looking a little dazed. “I’m good, perfect, absolutely fantastic, like so good. Like. Like, um. Like a really good Merthur moment in the middle of a really bad episode. Heavenly. That’s how good I am.”

They all stare at him for a moment.

“Hey guys,” Steve says, looking a little pained, “do you hear that?”

Stiles moans woefully. “Oh no,” he says. “No. No, make it stop.”

It’s at about this time that Alec comes storming in, followed by the other werecats. Lucian is holding a stereo that is, currently, blaring _tell me whatcha you want whatcha really really want_ at full volume.

“Fuck my life,” Stiles whimpers.

“We’re here to save your asses,” Lucian says, looking like he’s taking more delight in this than is probably sane. “You’re welcome.”

“Ah,” is all Stiles says. He thinks it’s a pretty accurate representation of his whole life right now.

-

**CLINT BARTON’S REALLY SECRET DIARY – _day 154_**

**written as a collaboration by the Owner of This Completely Awesome Diary and Stiles ‘The Chosen One’ Stilinski**

Since Clint Barton and Stiles Stilinski’s Diabolical Plan, various strange things have happened. Only one of these things actually includes Steve and Tony Getting Together. The two writers of this piece think that they deserve a fucking award for this.

 

  1. The Car Incident. Tony Stark thought that it would be a good idea to wire the car so that when one Derek Hale attempted to park at the supermarket while picking up groceries (he doesn’t trust Tony and Steve to do it anymore), the sounds of explicit erotica burst through the speakers, causing the same Derek Hale to be imprisoned for two hours for public indecency.



 

     2. The Wildcats. The Wildcats were, strangely, terrified of Stiles’ werecats. This may have been partially due to the Spice Girls, but Stiles is going to reserve judgment on that one. Everybody has their weaknesses. Moses was imprisoned for murder and given a life sentence. Moses’ lovely mother, Louise Macintosh, came down for the trial and spent the whole time berating Moses for his foolishness. Stiles Stilinski seriously believed that Moses began to whimper at one point.

 

     3. The Thing With Steve and Tony. Stiles and Clint are very proud of this New Development. Steve and Tony are like a married couple, but potentially with higher sex drives. Neither Stiles Stilinski nor Clint Barton appreciated the thumping at 3AM in the morning, thank you very much.

 

Overall, both Clint Barton and Stiles Stilinski are, as a direct quote, ‘fucking proud’ of what they have accomplished. Barton is currently in the process of convincing Phil Coulson to ask SHIELD to create an Award For the Bravery Involved In Matchmaking. Coulson, strangely, has been ignoring Clint Barton with an air of both unnecessary distaste and profound rudeness.

-

 

It’s Steve’s turn to organize Relaxation/Bonding/Not-Saving-The-World time, which was introduced by Pepper Potts after The Incident With The Lawnmower And Nick Fury’s Crocs (Tony had been impressed by the man’s dedication; he apparently _mass-ordered_ Crocs from Australia all the way to his house. Steve had been perplexed at this, and a little horrified, demanding, “Isn’t that animal cruelty, though?” Clint had nearly cried from laughing so hard.)

Regardless, it’s Steve’s turn, and all the Avengers are blissfully unaware when he walks in, iPod in hand, and announces, “It’s RBNSTW Time.”

“I think you’re supposed to say it like letters, Cap,” Bruce suggests. “Not as a word.”

Tony cocks his head thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he says. “I think arbenestwuh has a bit of ring to it, personally.”

“A bit of a mouthful though,” Isaac points out from his perch on the living room table. Pepper would kill him in cold blood if she saw him sitting on that table. Tony thanks God that Pepper is not currently present, because he doesn’t fancy a recurrence of That Time With The Kitchen Utensils.

Tony smirks. “You know what else is a bit of a mouthfu–”

“YOGA TIME,” Steve crows delightedly.

Every single person in the room groans. Well, except Coulson. Coulson just looks a little perplexed.

-

“Boyd, you need to stop flinching every time Natasha moves,” Steve says long-sufferingly. “She’s not going to bite you.”

Tony nods encouragingly from his position in the Downward-Facing Dog. “Natasha definitely won’t bite, wolf boy,” he calls. “However, your behind _is_ at perfect –”

Boyd looks terrified. Natasha, smirking, takes advantage of his terror, as she is wont to do, and slaps Boyd on the ass. Boyd is so startled that he goes careering forward into Isaac. Isaac tries desperately to maintain his Downward-Facing Dog pose, which he only _just_ managed to perfect, so instead of the two falling in a heap, they end up with Boyd’s face planted in Isaac’s – well.

“Sweet mother of Jesus,” says Bruce, who is positioned next to Isaac. He looks like he’s dying.

“I think Bruce is dying,” Tony says helpfully.

“Bruce isn’t dying. He is taking advantage of –”

“Oh God, not this again,” Clint mutters.

“Bruce is _not_ taking advantage of the stretch,” says Bruce himself. “Bruce thinks he might be on the verge of dying.”

“Tony is rather enjoying the position,” Tony says.

“That’s just because Tony’s face is in perfect checking-out-Steve’s-ass position,” grumbles Stiles. He, unlike Tony, does not seem to be enjoying the position, and is half bracing himself on Erica. Tony says half-bracing because every time Stiles tries the girl turns around and snaps at him. Stiles looks terrified, but he tries again anyway. That boy never learns.

“Well, I don’t know about you all,” Coulson says from his spot in the centre of the room, where he is perfectly maintaining the Wide-Angle Seated Forward Bend (“ _Always was my favourite,_ ” Coulson had admitted. Tony had been slightly disturbed.) “But I’m having a great time.”

“Don’t you mean _Coulson’s having a great time,_ ” Clint quips. They all stare at him for a long moment.

“Now,” Steve says suddenly, “onto the Wide-Legged Forward Bend.”

He then proceeds to demonstrate the _Wide-Legged Forward Bend,_ which is as explicit as it seems, which Steve’s legs spread far apart and his (firmly sculpted, extremely touchable) ass thrust into the air. “Like this. You guys ready? Guys, come on.”

Tony can’t really blame the others for being a bit shell-shocked. It’s not every day that one finds themselves with a face full of Captain America’s firmly sculpted, extremely touchable ass. Even after all this time he’s not immune to it. In fact, he is incredibly vulnerable to it, so vulnerable that –

“Jesus,” Erica exclaims. Erica and Natasha are both staring openly at Tony’s crotch. Which, well. Uh. They’re also smirking.

“I think Tony _really_ likes this pose, Cap,” Natasha says slyly.

Tony would not have been able to take responsibility for what would have happened next when Steve turns to look at Tony, giving Tony a literal face full of Steve’s crotch. Luckily for them, Tony is not arrested for public indecency because there is a sudden roar and suddenly Tony’s left with his face suddenly planted into the floor and an uncomfortable boner while Steve abandons Tony in favour of sorting out the Hulk, who is currently smashing a huge hole in Tony’s ceiling.

Tony isn’t even fazed. He’s kind of used to this by now. If he wanted intact houses, he would have made normal friends. Fortunately for them all, Tony did not.

-

The rest of the Stiles’ vacation goes – and he says this tentatively – peacefully.

Well, as peaceful as vacations in New York can get with a house full of the Avengers, a pack of werewolves, and the occasional visit from Phil Coulson, Pepper Potts, and Stiles’ pack of werecats.

Stiles finds himself standing on the roof of Stark Tower one night, looking out over New York. At night, the city comes alive in a way very different to the way Beacon Hills pulls up its bed socks and falls asleep. Lights flicker all over the place, and Stiles is quite content to just stand there, admiring the view.

“A bit better than ol’ Beacon Hills’ views, isn’t it?” He doesn’t hear Tony come up behind him, but Stiles is so used to Tony appearing out of nowhere that he doesn’t even flinch. Tony comes to stand next to Stiles, looking out over the city lights.

Stiles has to admit, “It is.”

“You could stay here, you know,” Tony says, throwing an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulling his godson close. “Enjoy the big city life. Live with the Avengers. Live with your favourite godfather.” He grins.

Stiles laughs a little. “My _only_ godfather, you mean?” he says, but they both know that he doesn’t mean it. Tony is the best godfather Stiles could ever ask for. “I can’t stay. I wish I could, sometimes. Maybe after high school.” He grins. “I’ve got to look after my pack. They’ll wreak havoc without me to keep them in check.

Tony smirks. “I get it. Momma Stiles, right?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Stark.”

“As your godfather, I just have to say,” Tony says solemnly, “Pink is _really_ not your colour. But maybe we could fit you into a flowery bonnet or something. You’d fit into the housewife stereotype quite perfectly, I think.”

Stiles hits him around the back of the head. “Idiot.”

Tony places his hands over his arc reactor. “You wound me, Stiles. You _wound_ me.”

Stiles laughs. There are a few long moments of silence before he mutters, “Love you, goddaddy Stark.”

Tony smiles. “Love you, too, kid.”

There’s peaceful silence until finally, Stiles’ phone lights up with a phone call from his dad. Somebody’s changed his ringtone, though, and it blares out so loudly that Stiles nearly falls off the roof, he’s so surprised.

Swearing, Stiles gets to his feet. Tony’s gone. Stiles can hear him shuffling down the steps quickly.

“ _Tony,_ ” Stiles calls, running towards the steps with ‘ _don’t go wasting my precious time’_ blaring from his phone. “You are _so_ dead.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so late because 1) I had exams, 2) I had NaNoWriMo, which 3) I finished and 4) YAY, and 5) this number thing is fun.
> 
> There are so many pop culture references in this chapter that I am actually concerned at myself. Hopefully you guys enjoy the last installment of this potentially sanity-defying series.
> 
> Thanks for all your wonderful feedback!


End file.
